wished to be as pretty as Carla – soft, spot-free skin with the slimmest waist, just like her mum – although possibly, all I had to look forward to in that department was ‘The Great Auntie Elizabeth Gene’, but fingers crossed.
‘How about ice skating?’ she reiterated.
‘We do that all the time!’ I protested as Corey barged into the room for the fourth time that evening, baggy trousers hanging way below the waist and almost exposing the crack of his skinny bum, rolled up at the ankles and held in place with elastic bands. I’d seen the look on some guys down at the rec, but on Corey it just looked stoopid.
‘What are you two girls talking about, then?’ he asked.
‘GET OUT OF MY ROOM, YOU CRETIN!’ spat Carla as I took in the familiar scene of brother and sister mid-squabble. Corey was responsible for most rows, as he seemed to enjoy teasing his younger sister and behaving like the biggest idiot that ever lived. He also reeked of cigarettes.
‘Lo Bag?’ he said for no particular reason, flashing a dimpled smile.
‘I said, get out of my room. I’m telling Mum!’ said Carla, looking for something to chuck. These days, Carla and I were becoming more consumed in our own secrecy as Corey spent more time with ‘the boys’. And since reading The Manual, I’d felt miles older than the two of them anyway. Things were changing between us.
Carla finally found one of her old teddies and launched it towards her brother.
‘Cow!’ he spat, reaching for the door.
That night, Carla and I swooned over a poster of Bobby Brown and practised vogueing in front of the mirror, but not once did she ask me about The Manual.
I slipped back next door and into my room as Mum lay on the couch cuddled against the Bingo Caller, whispering sweet nothings. I changed into my yellow pyjamas decorated with pink dots and pulled The Manual from its secret hiding place under the bed. The one-eyed teddy stared at me, like he had something to say, and I started to wonder if I was getting too old to have him on my bed.
You’re in secondary school now.
A place where all the curly-haired kids want straight hair, the tubby kids dream of looking like beanpoles, and everyone is des perate to latch on to someone resembling a best friend.
This is fine, but having a bunch of other mates is always a good idea. At least I thought so when I was at school. In the jun iors I had three good friends – one was good at Maths, one great at football, the other okay at English. This all helped considering Maths and English were my least favourite subjects!
When I got to secondary school, things were a little different. Just getting through the day without being called certain names was really important, and it didn’t hurt to be around a bunch of boys who were feared, but the rules remained the same. So, now, what was his name…? John or Johnny, I think? Now he was brilliant at both Maths AND English. And there was Nick, who everyone was scared of (which obviously brought the name-calling down to a minimum). And then there was Charlie (secretly, my favourite best mate) who was basically good at… well, mucking about mainly.
Look at it this way: some will be good at geography, others good for advice. Whatever their strengths, I’m sure they’ll make such a difference to your life. They’ll teach you loads – good and bad. Believe me on that one.
But hey, perhaps there’s someone you already muck about with and share secrets with. (Carla, maybe? You always seemed so close.) Whoever it is, never let her go. Best friends are a bit special and a bit rare – like sand made out of gold – and when you find a good one, keep her. Treat her the way you like to be treated. And always be loyal.
Admittedly, when you hit your teens, it may become difficult to keep up the loyalty bit as there’s always this urge to join cliques. To branch out and experiment with situations that may not include your original mates. And there’s nothing wrong with this (as long as it’s good stuff), just try not to abandon your best friend in the process – she’s the person who’ll ultimately be there for you.
I’m basically trying to share the type of advice my old dad would impart as he smoked on a long pipe (okay, I’m fibbing about the pipe bit). His sentences would always begin: ‘Son, listen to me…’ Most times I’d do so by rolling my eyes continuously around in my head until the onset of eye-ache. You see, he didn’t always make much sense with his man-to-man speeches, but sometimes he got it spot on.
I don’t doubt you’ll meet a few more friends as you get older, and that’s great, but the ones you can really, truly rely on, you’ll be able to count them on one hand.
I hugged the one-eyed teddy close.
Then there are the not- so- friendlies.
Remember, Lowey, bullies are just wimps in disguise. You may think they’re all brave when they confront you, shout a lot and basi cally frighten the socks off you. But with bullies, there’s something about THEMSELVES they’re trying to cover up by being horrible and mean to you. So, if you’ve inherited my gangliness, you’re probably taller than a lot of the other girls and boys in your class anyway, which can help, but can also bring on the teasing. Or if you’re anything like your mum’s side – Auntie Elizabeth case in point – you’re probably quite… generous around the middle and a little vertically challenged.
Actually, I was a cross between both sets of families: taller than all the boys in my class, not as slim as most of the girls…
The point I’m trying to make is, school can at times represent one big fat popularity contest, especially these days. I remember it well and it wasn’t easy. I have to admit, being good at football was a bonus (especially as I helped win the cup). But it’s just too early to see what you’ll be good at, to make you less of a target. All I do know is that you’ll be a beauty (inside and out) and this in itself might make you popular – or get you beaten up from time to time. Whatever you look like, there will be something that makes you stand out, and if a group of kids, or just one kid with a big gob, cottons on to this – you’re in trouble.
Okay, now for the ‘try not to be a wimp’ part.
LOWEY, DONT BE A WIMP!
If a real big bully has it in for you, never let her know you’re scared. If she starts calling you names about the way you look, the colour of your skin, the style of your clothes, just ignore her – this will hurt her more than you actually responding, as it will make her look and then feel a bit silly. If the situation calls for tougher action, then take it like a man and stand up to her (no, not by smacking her about the head with your satchel – however much she deserves it – and she might). Laugh her off or ignore her – she’ll soon get bored. Let her know she JUST ISN’T THAT IMPORTANT
